I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.
I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.
Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.
Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.
As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.
The sanest thing in this world is love.
Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
The joy that isn't shared dies young.
I am crazy as hell, but I know it. And knowing it is a kind of sanity that makes the sickness worse.
The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.
One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.
And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.
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